


H U N T

by mthrfkrgdhrwego (universalchampbalor)



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: :3c, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Body Horror, Explicit Sexual Content, Hunting, Knotting, M/M, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Predator/Prey, Purple Prose, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Trans Male Character, Trans Roman, Vaginal Sex, Werewolf Sex, here i am reading bible passages about angels at almost midnight lmao, its werewolves of course tehres body horror, this is jsut. weird, will be in second chapter, y e a h, yeah idk where the religious analogies came from but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-02-26 01:26:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18713704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/universalchampbalor/pseuds/mthrfkrgdhrwego
Summary: Those eyes, blue and piercing, almost glowing in the moonlight, are not Dean’s. The glint in them is feral, dark, dangerous in a bad way. Those teeth, those fangs, sharp and saliva slick, pushing thin lips back in a snarl, are not Dean’s. The sharp angle of his right front tooth, the sharp snaggle Roman’s gotten used to, is hidden by the sharp point his teeth have made.He was the hazy remembrance of a long-ago dream of a man, twisted by lupine instincts and insidious moonlight.





	1. Chapter 1

There’s a sort of calm that comes from running for your life.

There’s a focus, an understanding. Everything feels simple; the ground hitting your feet, twigs snapping under you, the wind rushing past, the burn of your muscles, the howling behind you.

The woods are surprisingly thick. Roman doesn’t know what town he’s in, knows it doesn’t matter, knows it wouldn’t change anything. His feet are getting cut by the rough rocks beneath him and there are going to be bruises along his skin from the branches he races past. He can’t hear anything other than his footsteps, than the wind, than his own heartbeat, than the  _ growl _ behind him that sends fear through his chest.

He’s tired. He doesn’t know how long he’s been running but he does know  _ why _ . The wolf. Large, snarling, blue eyes glowing in the night, moon drunk and delirious. Teeth. Claws. A familiar scar on the jaw. 

Well. Not quite a wolf, not  _ fully  _ a wolf. Not yet. A wolf in man’s clothing, a brother turned  _ dark _ , poisoned by the moon, hazy and absent. The twisted form of a man, empty, animalistic, fangs and talons and the familiar jerk of the head as bones crunched underneath skin.

Roman knows he can’t keep running. He’s only human,  _ the only human here _ , and for all the times he could do an iron man match and can wrestle until he’s boneless, he can’t keep doing this. The ache in his thighs, in his shins, is growing by the step, lungs grasping at air they can’t keep, blood thrumming too loud, too fast, too hard. Nausea rolls his stomach, the strain of  _ running _ mixing with fear like lime juice and cream.

He trips. A snarled branch snags his ankle, yanking him down to the ground in an instant. There’s a sharp pain in his wrist as he catches himself, rough stones biting into the skin of his palms. He tries to get up, tries to scramble to his feet, but his foot is caught.

He’s trapped.

He hears the wolf behind him, heavy steps and panting breaths. He feels the presence, feels the weight of the stare. He’s prey, hunted, and the wolf is his predator, the hunter.

A nose sniffs at his neck, wet and rough. He can feel breath huffing against his neck, wet and hot, and if it were any other situation, his heart would be spiking for a different reason.

Hands that are barely hands, are closer to  _ paws _ , grab his waist. He’s lifted into the air, much easier than a man his size should be lifted, and he’s shoved onto his back, slumped against a tree. The moon is blinding through the canopy of budding branches, and for a moment, all he can see is a silhouette.

The figure crouched over him  _ looks  _ more man than wolf, but the glint in his eyes show the grip the wolf has over him. This is  _ almost _ Roman’s friend,  _ almost _ the man that bought him breakfast this morning,  _ almost _ the man he’s been traveling with for 6 years.

But it isn’t.

Those eyes, blue and piercing, almost  _ glowing _ in the moonlight, are not Dean’s. The glint in them is feral, dark, dangerous in a  _ bad way _ . Those teeth, those  _ fangs _ , sharp and saliva slick, pushing thin lips back in a snarl, are not Dean’s. The sharp angle of his right front tooth, the sharp snaggle Roman’s gotten used to, is hidden by the sharp point his teeth been forced into, barely hanging onto his gums. He was the hazy remembrance of a long-ago dream of a man, twisted by lupine instincts and insidious moonlight.

His nails, usually short and bitten to the quick, have turned to talons that cut through Roman’s shorts where he’s gripping his hips. Dean’s nose is still pressed to Roman’s neck, breathing in lungfuls of fear and sweat like it was intoxicating. 

Roman’s stuck, can’t do anything other than lay there and pant. His heart jackrabbits in his chest, his pulse pounding against Dean’s tongue when he licks a stripe up to Roman’s jaw. He can’t help but whimper as Dean’s fangs rake his jugular. He knows what Dean is thinking; no, what the  _ wolf _ is thinking.

It would be so easy to kill him.

Roman’s breath hitches as Dean rears back. He looks like an angel, haloed by the same moon that’s driving him mad, with a face like lightning and eyes like infinity. He was awesome, terrific, dangerous and imperfectly perfect. Roman suddenly understands why the shepherds feared the angels that announced the immaculate conception.

Dean’s mouth works around words that he can’t form, around words that are shredded by the points of his teeth and the spit pooling under his too-long tongue. He tries to speak, sharp, gurgled noises falling from his teeth. Saliva drips from his fangs, glaring in the light, and pools on Roman’s stomach.

Roman kisses him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isnt a fic this is 4 kinks in a trenchcoat

Kissing is surprisingly hard when your partner is halfway through turning into a wolf.

Roman has experience, though- quite frankly, he has to with the way Dean’s libido cranks up to eleven around the full moon- so he avoids cutting himself on Dean’s fangs. It’s hardly an exact science, but he manages, only getting nicked when Dean purposefully bites his lower lip.

Dean produces more saliva than the average person when he’s fully human, so by this point in the turn, there’s saliva practically  _ dripping _ from his mouth. It slicks down Roman’s chin, wets his shirt, makes his mouth that much wetter.

Dean’s  _ growling _ , a low, dangerous sound that makes heat curl in Roman’s belly. His talons are slicing through the material of Roman’s shorts, barely avoiding breaking his skin. There’s restraint in Dean’s grip, tension in his half-deformed fingers telling the amount of self-control he’s exhibiting.

Dean draws back after a moment, looking all the world like he didn’t just kiss Roman stupid. His chest is heaving, but it isn’t from the kiss; it’s likely due to the way his bones are shifting under his skin, trying to reform but unable to. The moon is too far.

He sniffs at Roman’s neck, down his chest, to the junction of Roman’s thighs. He presses his nose to the front of Roman’s shorts, inhaling a deep lungful. Roman has to fight the urge to press his hips against Dean’s face.

Dean scents his way back up to Roman’s ear, saliva drooling from his teeth. He lashes his tongue out to wet his lower lip, barely missing the sharp edge of his canines. His tongue is long,  _ too long _ , inhuman in a way that shouldn’t make Roman want to whine but does.

Dean pants against Roman’s throat for a moment, mouth working around garbled synonyms. Words can be hard for him on a good day, let alone when they’re hindered by a mile long tongue and fangs as long as Roman’s thumb. After a moment, he finally figures out how to get his mouth to cooperate.

“I can  _ smell _ how wet you are.”

His voice is  _ wrecked, _ deep and snarled and sounding like he gargles gravel for fun. His breath is rough, huffing out in sharp puffs,  _ hot _ and  _ wet _ against Roman’s skin. Roman can feel his eyelashes flutter against his neck when he blinks.

It takes everything in Roman to not whine at Dean’s words. He’s right; Roman’s pretty sure his boxers are  _ soaked _ , slick practically dripping from him. There’s just something about getting  _ stalked _ ,  _ hunted _ through the woods by the animalistic, twisted form of his boyfriend that gets Roman so  _ hot _ . It’s arousing, the way Dean’s fangs brush his skin and his claws dent his skin.

There’s a loud tearing sound, and Roman doesn’t realize it’s his shorts being shredded until the cold air hits his thighs. He  _ whines _ , high in his throat, as Dean stares at him. Drool falls onto his thighs, runs to the crease of him, and it makes Roman tremble.

Dean manhandles Roman onto his knees, pressed against the tree. The rough bark bites into his palms, splinters threatening to dig into his skin. He curls his nails against the bark, trying to ground himself as he feels Dean sniffing a line down his back.

Dean’s breath is hot, wet, against Roman’s clammy skin. He can feel Dean’s fangs bumping his spine as Dean lowers himself, the leaves underneath the younger man’s knees crunching loudly in the air. For a moment, it’s silent other than their breathing; Roman’s breath is rough, harsh, barely enough to keep his lungs from screaming; Dean’s is low, steady panting that puffs against Roman’s skin and condenses in the air.

Dean’s tongue dragging along the small of Roman’s back startles him. He arches back unintentionally, barely able to hold in the whimper building in his throat. Dean’s tongue is rough, wide, inhumanly long. He slides it lower, across the dimples of Roman’s back, the swell of his ass, down across the back of his thighs. Roman has to choke down a whine when Dean skirts what needs attention the most. Of course Dean would tease him even when he’s half out of his mind off moonlight.

Dean bites Roman’s inner thighs, sinks his canines in just enough to leave a mark without breaking skin. Roman barely muffles the groan he lets out by digging his teeth into his lower lip hard enough to hurt. The pain only worsens the arousal curling in his stomach.

After a few minutes of sucking bruises into Roman's thighs, Dean finally,  _ finally _ raises his mouth. His tongue curls sloppily against Roman's cunt, rough in the best way. Roman moans and digs his teeth into the meat of his forearm.

Dean's fangs are bumping against Roman's cunt, little pinpricks of pain that cause fear and pleasure to settle across his nerves in equal measure. His tongue slides against Roman's entrance, entering shallowly, nowhere near what Roman  _ needs _ . 

After a horribly long moment, Dean slides his mouth down to Roman's cock. He sucks it into his mouth, working the short length with his tongue. Roman cries out, hips pushing back against Dean's mouth. Dean's hands are grabbing at Roman's hips, his ass, fangs slicing the skin enough to draw small beads of blood. 

It doesn't take long for Roman to come. Dean's tongue forcing its way into his cunt, teeth grazing the stretched entrance, is what does it. He whines around the skin of his forearm as Dean keeps licking at his cock, even when Roman's close to sobbing from overstimulation.

Dean draws back and Roman almost complains before he hears the sound of Dean's zipper ripping open. He shivers in anticipation, thighs shaking with the remnants of his orgasm. A long moment stretches between them, Roman clenching around nothing, Dean still behind him.

He's about to start begging when the head of Dean's cock nudges his cunt.

This far along in the shift, his cock is different. Instead of the blunt head, it's tapered, almost  _ unbearably _ hot against Roman's sensitive skin. Dean ruts forwards for a moment, the head of his cock bumping the underside of Roman's dick. He almost sobs, forehead pressed to the rough bark, teeth almost cutting through the skin of his forearm.

Dean keeps up the movement for an unbearably long time. After an eternity of smearing a mess of precome and slick against Roman's cock, Dean grips him by the hips and yanks him away from the tree. He falls roughly on his hands and knees, the rocks and dirt gritting his skin. He can't help the moan that crawls out of his throat.

Dean drags his claws across the back of Roman's shirt, splitting the fabric with a loud tearing noise. He rips the clothing off of Roman, leaving him fully nude against the ground. A clawed hand snakes around to palm Roman's tit, nails digging into his nipple.

Roman whines, forcing a knuckle between his teeth to muffle the noises he's making. Dean leans close to Roman's ear, his voice nothing more than a growl as he grinds out a sharp  _ “Don't.”  _

Dean  _ mounts _ Roman, pressing them together from shoulders to thighs. His cock rubs against Roman's hole, head catching on the rim as he adjusts himself. There's drool falling against Roman's neck, loud snarls puffing against the shell of his ear, teeth and claws snapping against skin without piercing.

At least not yet.

Dean's mouth works around nothing for a moment before he finds his words. When he speaks, his voice is hindered by the rough vocalizations forcing their way out of his warped throat. 

“ _ Beg for it.” _

Roman’s arms almost give out. He gasps for breath, trying to get the air he needs to speak. His mouth feels like a desert, throat sticking together as he tries to swallow. “Fuck,  _ please _ . I need it, I need your cock, your knot, I need you to fuck me until I can't walk. Dean,  _ please _ fuck me.” He moans, back arched to push back against Dean's cock.

One of Dean's hands grips a fistful of Roman's hair and  _ pulls _ . The movement forces Roman's back into a steeper curve, something uncomfortably perfect. The sharp pain that radiates from his scalp makes Roman gasp.

Dean fits his mouth next to Roman's ear, teeth nicking the thin skin. “What did you call me?” He snarls, the talons against Roman's scalp threatening to break skin.

Roman can't correct himself fast enough. “Alpha, I'm sorry, please, please use me, please fuck me.” He cries out, breath coming in even rougher than before. Dean growls in his throat, a pleased and dark sound that makes slick drip from Roman's cunt.

It takes Dean a few attempts to fit his cock into Roman. He doesn’t seem willing to take his hands off Roman, and even if he was, he wouldn't be steadying his cock out of fear of cutting his dick with his talons. The head slides in easily and Roman  _ sobs _ , face buried in the cradle of his arms.

Dean doesn't let Roman adjust. He snaps his hips roughly, setting a brutal pace that has Roman moaning between sharp breaths. He has to brace himself against Dean's thrusts, knees sliding wider to steady himself as the force threatens to knock him on his face. He can't even hold himself up on his hands; he's stuck bracing himself on his forearms as his arms shake.

Dean drags his teeth against the skin over Roman's pulse, lips and tongue leaving sloppy,  _ wet _ kisses behind. Drool is sliding down the curve of Roman's neck, following the line of his chest to slick his tits. He whines around a knuckle, thighs trembling as one of Dean's hands come up to pinch his nipple between too sharp nails. They threaten to break skin and the pain shoots across Roman's nerves and curls in his stomach. His blood feels molten, like lava, electricity, like pleasure so strong it feels like pain.

Dean's hips are working steadily, hitting Roman's hard enough to hurt. His cock is  _ pulsing _ inside Roman, hot and thick and fucking  _ perfect _ . He keeps dragging his mouth across Roman's skin, baptizing him in saliva as he growls.

It doesn't take long for Roman to come. It hits him like a freight train, knocks the breath from his lungs, makes his legs almost give out underneath him. He almost  _ screams _ , a guttural noise tearing free from his throat as he shakes. His cunt trembles with his orgasm and Dean practically bays at the feeling. He's practically humping Roman, rutting his hips helplessly against Roman as his knot begins to swell.

Roman's stretched, relaxed, fucked loose by the rough fucking Dean's giving him. The knot catches against his rim, forces inside just enough to be felt on each of Dean's thrusts. The slight pain of the swell shoving into Roman's cunt had him on the edge in no time, pleasure so sudden it hurts.

He's sobbing, he realizes, tears streaming down his face. Dean licks the side of his face, cleaning the tears from his skin in a gesture so ridiculously intimate and sweet for the moment that Roman almost laughs. Dean's weight is pressed to him, a steady, grounding presence, as Dean drills into him relentlessly.

Roman doesn't know what makes him come; Dean's knot locking abruptly, the hot flood of cum in him, or Dean snapping his teeth into Roman's shoulder as he comes. One of them does it, or maybe a mix of them, Roman coming around Dean's cock with enough force that his arms give out. Dean catches him before his face meets the dirt, nails digging into his cheek as the wolf cradles his head.

Dean howls when he comes, voice strong, carrying through the air and shaking the leaves on the trees. He tugs Roman on top of him, arms bracketing Roman's torso like an iron bar. He nuzzled against Roman's neck, licking away the blood leaking from the bite mark he left there.

Roman's so caught up in the feeling of Dean pumping him full of cum, tracing his fingers over the curve of his stomach as if he can feel Dean's cock from the outside, that he doesn’t notice Dean's hand until rough fingers stroke the length of his cock. He struggles momentarily, trashing in Dean's arms. He's so sensitive that the drag of Dean's calluses  _ hurts _ , but it feels so good. He's caught between telling Dean to stop and melting against him. His hips roll of their own accord.

He comes a fourth time, tears leaking from his eyes as he writes. The movement tugs on Dean's knot, still locked inside of him, and it causes another wave of cum to flood his insides. He feels like his stomach is going to bulge from it all. He giggles deliriously at the thought.

Dean offers his fingers, and Roman takes them into his mouth gratefully. He leaves them with his tongue, cleaning them of his own slick. He scrapes the claws across his tongue, the little frissons of pain settling like a blanket over his nerves.

They lie there for a moment, locked together. It's oddly intimate, peaceful, and Roman finds himself almost falling asleep. Dean’s arms are comforting wrapped around him, acting almost as a cushion underneath him. He's purring, and the noise and vibration are enough to lull him halfway to unconsciousness.

“Ok?” Dean mumbles, jaw working overtime around the syllable. He's too far gone to handle full sentences, but Roman has enough experience dealing with an almost turned Dean to understand.

He nods, but he's quiet for a moment. “You tore my clothes.” He says a little dumbly, messing with the scraps of cloth still stuck to his body.

Dean nuzzled against his throat and places a sloppy kiss there. His fangs and tongue mangle the word he tries to say, leaves the syllables a garbled, incoherent mess, but Roman knows the apology for what it is.

“You better not let me fall asleep in the woods.” Roman gripes, snuggling against Dean's chest. They're still locked together, and Dean's knot won't deflate for another hour. It's a serious worry on Roman's part.

Dean manages a growled, “ _ Bossy,  _ ” before Roman falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jonsmoxley on Tumblr! Come bug me!


End file.
